


A Personal Request

by Carmenlire



Series: Tumblr Prompts [30]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Detective Noir, Film Noir, High Warlock of Brooklyn Magnus Bane, Immortal Husbands, M/M, POV Magnus Bane, Private Investigators, Time Travel, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: Magnus had decided to throw his hat in the private investigator ring. As a private eye, he kept odd hours and as he glances over at the grandfather clock, he sees that it’s past two in the morning.Leaving the cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth, he frowns as he reaches for an envelope. It’s full of cash for a job well done and Magnus can’t resist a shudder as he remembers the client who had slinked through the door just a few days ago.Or, Magnus is a private eye and his latest case is a doozy.





	A Personal Request

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> A weary, cynical P.I. gets a new case.
> 
> Hi everyone! I had the flu the week of this prompt but I really liked my idea so I decided to go ahead and write it out-- and take the shameless opportunity to ignore the word limit! Happy Reading!

“Are you sure about this, Magnus?”

Magnus doesn’t look up from the potion he’s stirring, the mixture far too volatile to take his eyes from, if even for a moment. “I’m telling you, there’s something about her file that strikes me as too familiar to ignore. Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong, darling?”

He hears the unease in his husband’s voice as Alec replies, “I’m just saying-- Are you sure he’d even be willing to help us? From what you’ve told me--”

“What nonsense,” Magnus cuts in. He sprinkles a spoonful of ground vampire fang into the potion below, watches it turn an iridescent opal. His voice is grim as he finally looks up and meet’s Alec’s apprehensive gaze.

“He’ll help us, Alexander, if for no other reason than he won’t have a choice.”

Leaning back in his chair, Magnus brings the cigarette up to his lips and takes a contemplative drag. It’s pouring outside and as the sound of the rain hitting his window drones on in the background, he can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s doing.

It’s 1947 and he’s been playing detective for a couple of years now. After the latest war, Magnus had felt wrung out and tired to his bones. The war had been rough on everyone but as a warlock, it had been the latest in a long line of devastation he’d seen humans wreak. He has to admit that even he-- with his centuries of experience-- had been surprised as he’d realized that the Great War was only the first, that it would only take another twenty years for another, greater and even more awful war to start.

Taking turns working as everything from a field medic to an Air Force pilot, Magnus had wandered back to the Big Apple eighteen months ago. His loft had been eerily silent, the spells he’d put in place keeping everything immaculate no matter that he hadn’t been in the city that never sleeps in almost a decade, between bouts of spying on behalf of Churchill and working for the Allied Powers.

Still, all wars eventually end and so Magnus had turned up in New York. Exhausted and irredeemably disillusioned-- no mean feat considering his past-- he’d been at loose ends. Nothing was calling him and he was so goddamned tired that not even his old haunts brought him any joy besides the flickers of relief when he saw an old friend and knew they, too, had survived the war.

Watching the film _Double Indemnity_ in the theater, however, Magnus had decided to throw his hat in the private investigator ring. As a private eye, he kept odd hours and as he glances over at the grandfather clock, he sees that it’s past two in the morning.

Leaving the cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth, he frowns as he reaches for an envelope. It’s full of cash for a job well done and Magnus can’t resist a shudder as he remembers the client who had slinked through the door just a few days ago.

The dame had tried to play him for a fool but the joke was on her. Magnus Bane was no one’s fool and he’d known as soon as she’d sashayed into his office in a scarlet dress with a thigh high slit that her motivations were far from altruistic.

Still, it was the dawn of a new age and opportunity was everywhere, especially if you had nothing to lose. They’d had a spin or two around the block as Magnus took her case. He’d investigated her fiance and Magnus had learned the glamorous facade didn’t hide a heart of gold. His client was a shark, always scenting blood, and he can still feel the way her crimson nails had raked down his back, finding a twisting sense of satisfaction at the memory of her lipstick leaving a faded stain on his neck.

Magnus has no scruples about climbing into bed with the devil as long as they’re both on the same page.

So, they’d gone a round or two between the sheets and Magnus had found that while his client was mercenary, her instincts were razor sharp. He’d found the scoop on her fiance. Turns out the bastard had been cheating-- at both business and pleasure.

The fiance had ordered a hit on Magnus’s client, planned for the morning after their wedding. His client was the heiress to an automobile company, her fiance a wealthy financier on Wall Street. Magnus had found out the man’s intentions thanks to his connections in the downworld, as there was another warlock who was rumoured to offer a side menu of services for the right price.

The last week has been a whirlwind as Magnus divided his time between the Warlock council, snapping incriminating photographs, and releasing some pent up frustration with a woman who’d turn on him in the blink of an eye.

With a sigh, Magnus thumbs over the stack of lettuce the client had left before she’d turned and walked away with a last kiss and an offer for another dalliance should the mood ever strike either of them.

Magnus knows that he won’t be going back to that particular well, though he can’t stop the shiver that wracks him at the sense of foreboding her exit had left him with. Something tells him that this isn’t the last they’ll see of each other.

The truth is, he’s debating getting out of the game. Being a private eye isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be and he’s getting pretty goddamned beat of seeing the lowest of the low walk through his door, looking for any way up. Magnus’s clients regularly lie to him, hiding as much as they reveal, and it’s all getting to be a bit too much.

Through the decades, he’s tried his hand at a variety of fields, many of which were in the mundane world. With an eternity to explore everything the world has to offer, he’d been everything from a coiffeur during pre-revolutionary France to a general store owner during the days before Arizona was a state. This is the latest in a long line and lately, Magnus has started to wonder if it’s not time to hang his hat up and turn back to working as a warlock-for-hire.

He misses brewing potions and helping people, really helping them-- not just getting them blackmail material or a nice pay day.

Lost in his thoughts, Magnus looks up at the knock on his door that rattles his window. The opaque glass doesn’t show anything but the distorted shape of a man. By the looks of him, he’s tall-- taller than Magnus at any rate-- and Magnus’s lips turn up in a private smile.

There’s still a hint of thrill at the unknown, at the opportunity presenting itself on the other side of his door. He can’t help but feel like he’s in one of the movies he has a weakness for-- he pays a dime every Thursday evening to catch the latest detective film in theaters-- and with a subtle wave of his hand, the door opens a scant inch, beckoning the stranger.

“Come in,” he calls out as he rests his heels on the corner of his desk. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he holds it in a negligent grip as he watches the stranger push the door open and walk into his office with sure footfalls.

He feels his eyes widen at the sight of the man standing before him with a steady gaze. He makes an absent note of the dry hat pulled low over his brow, most of his attention caught on the heavy grain of a beard, at the hint of dark, curling hair visible underneath the brim, at the way the nondescript trench coat accentuates a trim figure.

“Well, aren’t you a Casanova,” Magnus drawls and he’s enchanted as he watches dull heat bloom into the stranger’s cheeks.

Clearing his throat, the man leans over Magnus’s desk and holds out a hand. “Mr. Bane. I hear you’re the best private eye in the city.”

“For you, darling, I can be anything you need.”

He watches the faint grin that curves the stranger’s mouth, the amusement lurking in hazel eyes and finds himself enamored. Distantly, he hopes the man’s motivations aren’t as nefarious as his usual clientele.

The handshake is perfunctory no matter how Magnus tries-- subtly, of course-- to linger. Sighing, Magnus supposes the man must not be interested, though he finds it a dead shame.

He’d love to get underneath Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome’s suit.

Magnus lazily straightens from where he’d been leaning back in his chair. Kicking his feet off his desk, he barely pays attention to the scarred wood that’s left behind as he stands. With the desk still between them, they’re on even ground now and Magnus takes his time giving the stranger a thorough once over. He sees the flash of wealth in the man’s watch, in the fine stitching of his coat whose collar is turned up.

“What can I do for you, darling?” He raises a brow. “Tell me you aren’t looking for a way to subtly get rid of an inconvenient spouse or business partner. I’ve had one too many cases like that this week and I’d hate for you to be nothing more than a two-bit sleaze.”

Confusion and not an inconsiderable amount of shock flares in the stranger’s eyes and Magnus finds himself quietly relieved at the immediate rejection.

“I need your help finding a rogue vampire, Mr. Bane.”

Magnus’s gaze sharpens at the request and he rapidly readjusts his initial assessment of the man before him.

That’s when his gaze snags on the black edgings of a rune just barely peaking out from the collar of his coat. Without thinking, he’s reaching out and pushing the collar down and sure enough, it is a rune, one that the stranger-- the _shadowhunter_, he thinks with a pang of disgust-- had taken deliberate pangs to hide.

“No,” Magnus replies flatly. “I haven’t helped your kind in several decades and I don’t plan to get tangled up with your schemes again now. Leave, shadowhunter, and forget you ever saw me.” He grimaces. “I know I’ll do my best to return the favor.”

The stranger flinches and it’s imperceptible even as Magnus detects resignation in the way his shoulders slump.

“Please, Mr. Bane, this is important. I need the name of the client you just helped-- the heiress with the philandering fiance.”

Narrowing his eyes, Magnus feels a frisson of unease at the realization that this shadowhunter has apparently been tailing him. And not only that but he hadn’t even noticed, Magnus thinks with a quietly indrawn breath.

“Get the hell out of my office, shadowhunter. As you can see, I’m working with mundanes this decade.”

Leaning closer, Magnus is reaching out before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. He lifts the handsome man’s head with a finger under his chin and takes a last moment to appreciate the view before he’s smiling, something grim and resolute lingering in the corners. His voice is quiet, the threat lingering underneath the sharp words, as he says, “And even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t tell you a goddamned thing.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

Magnus’s gaze flies up to the man standing in his doorway and hazily, he wonders if this is what a stroke feels like. Because the man leaning against the doorjamb isn’t a stranger. He’s-- he’s _Magnus_.

“What the fuck,” he hisses and as his eyes fly between the handsome stranger and his doppelganger just feet away, Magnus finds himself whispering, “This is it. I’ve gone bonkers.”

He watches as his second self takes a step into his office, hands held up in an unassuming appeal. “You’re not going crazy and you’re not in the bottom of a bottle. I’m Magnus Bane from, oh, about seventy years from now.”

Taking the words in, Magnus finally catalogs the changes in the man before him. The Magnus from the twenty-first century-- and doesn’t that make his chest squeeze at the thought-- wears makeup and his clothing is far more colorful than he remembers wearing since at least the mid nineteenth century. This decade, Magnus has been relegated to somber attire, military uniforms and dark, nondescript suits.

“How the hell are you here,” Magnus asks and he watches as his other self rests a hand on the shadowhunter’s back, sees the way the shadowhunter leans into the touch.

His head spins at _those_ implications.

Future Magnus waves the query away. “That’s not important. What is vital, however, is that we’re tracking a rogue vampire who has killed several dozen men and we think her pattern goes back decades, before she was even turned.” Their eyes meet and Magnus stills at the seriousness in his counterpart’s gaze. “Starting in 1947.”

Taking that information in, Magnus falls back into his seat, ignoring the squeak that he thought gave his office a wonderfully authentic air. “Teddy Biltmore III was her first victim?”

Future Magnus nods grimly. “She went through with the wedding, after all, and murdered him the next morning. According to the police report, he fell in the bathtub and drowned while she was sleeping.”

“Fuck,” Magnus bites out, raking a hand through his hair-- not the easiest feat considered it’s slicked back style that necessitates a ridiculous amount of pomade.

The other Magnus smiles wanly. “Yeah.”

The shadowhunter clears his throat. “So you’ll help us?”

Magnus looks up into hazel eyes and wonders what the hell he’s getting himself into. There’s no other option, though. Not really and as Magnus looks up, sparing a glance for the shadowhunter before meeting his own eyes across the room, he wonders that at least he knows he can trust this particular client.

“What do you need from me,” he asks.

The other Magnus shrugs. “I can’t seem to find my files or journals from this time period and I don’t remember her name or much else besides-- ah.” He breaks off with a sidelong glance at the shadowhunter. “Suffice to say, I need help remembering a few details on the case you finished, oh, a few hours ago.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Magnus blows out a breath as they portal back into the loft. Alec’s hot on his heels but Magnus doesn’t pay him much attention as he goes straight to his drink cart and pours a splash of gin before throwing it back. It burns and he’d forgotten how much he hated this particular liquor back then. Still, it feels oddly right, though he barely looks up as Alec plucks the refilled glass from his numb fingers and takes a sip before grimacing and handing it back.

“You’re sure you didn’t fuck the timeline up?”

Magnus spares him a glance, equal parts fond and exasperated. “I know better than anyone else that we can’t change things. My God, do you have any idea how things could go wrong if I knew anything at all back then that I do now?”

Alec smiles faintly and wraps a hand around his shoulders, pulling him close for a quiet kiss. “What, like the fact that you married a shadowhunter and became the High Warlock of Brooklyn the year after the Biltmore case?”

“Exactly,” Magnus replies pertly. “Plus, as much as I’m loathe to admit it, I can’t have me from 1953 preemptively stopping the woman. Some thing have to play out.”

Alec turns them, guiding Magnus to the couch where they both collapse. It’s been a long two days as Magnus had been preoccupied with the case and reconciling the him from immediately after WWII.

Still, he can’t resist. “You really know how to pick them, don’t you,” Alec teases.

Magnus looks up from where he’d been lost in though. “Whatever are you talking about, darling?”

“You had a tryst with a femme fatale, babe. That’s ballsy, even for you.”

Magnus’s eyes widen. “What-- I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Alexander. I swear, the ideas that get stuck in your head--”

Laughing, Alec cuts him off. “Magnus, I knew before we even went back in time that you’d slept with her. You have tells, you know, and my hunch was confirmed when you looked at me every time you almost let it slip.”

Magnus sighs as the realization that he hadn’t been nearly as subtle as he’d thought. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, darling. It’s never fun to be confronted with your significant other’s past. No matter that it was seventy years ago and you didn’t know she was a black widow who would get turned into a vampire years later, right under your nose,” he mutters under his breath.

“I have to admit I’m a little surprised you had an affair with her. You knew she was dangerous,” Alec says, confusion marring his brow.

Sighing, Magnus smiles a little as he reaches a hand up and smoother away the wrinkle. “You’ve got to remember, Alec,” he starts softly. “Not only was this before I met you but it was after I’d spent several years in the muck of a war. My heart was firmly locked away-- waiting for you-- and I had nothing to lose so I had nothing to fear.”

The loft is quiet for a moment as Alec takes his words in. When his husband looks up at him, Magnus shudders but it’s far from disgust or revulsion. It’s under the onslaught of the affection and fondness he sees in Alec’s eyes.

Alec takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, raising it to his lips for a kiss. “And now,” he asks and Magnus sees that he already knows the answer.

As well he should, he thinks with a huff of amusement.

“And now I have everything to lose. But I know I’m in good hands with you, darling. The best hands,” he ends on a whisper and Alec smiles as he pulls him closer.

“I’ll always be here, Magnus. I’ll always be there for you.”

Magnus is jarred awake, cursing himself a fool. His head is pounding and as he opens bleary eyes, his gaze catches on the empty bottle of gin on his nightstand.

God, he hates the filthy stuff. He can't believe he drank a whole bottle of the liquor.

He doesn’t know what day it is but when he finally rouses himself and looks at a calendar, he’s somehow still surprised to realize that he can’t remember the last two days. He’s been sauced before but it’s been ages since he lost whole days to the bottle.

With a shrug, Magnus decides not to worry too much about it. It’s not like he has clients beating down his door, not like anyone’s missed him since his last case.

Which, now that he thinks about it, he can’t quite remember the details. All he remembers is a broad with red nails and the lipstick to match curved in a cool smile.

It’s a few hours later when he settles at his desk. Straightening up paperwork, he doesn’t pay too much attention to the fact that he can’t find her file. Figuring that he’ll never need her records, he forgets about the case. Instead, he frowns as he picks up a single piece of paper, torn in half. 

There’s a message scrawled in a messy hand that doesn’t make any sense. It’s intriguing, a puzzle he’d like to solve, but just then his door bangs open and a frantic man bounds into his office yelling about a cheating wife and an embezzling accountant in cahoots with each other.

With a sigh, Magnus throws the paper away and turns back to his work.

_Magnus,_

_Wait just a little while longer. I’m on my way._

_A._

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
